Page 78 of Attempted Compromises
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, her voice catching. She reached out to take his tiny hand in hers. “Forever.”
Andrew’s smile widened before his eyes drifted shut again. Elizabeth’s thumb gently stroked his palm, her gaze lingering on his peaceful face as he slipped back into slumber. The warmth of the room wrapped around her like a cocoon, but her thoughts swirled in a tempest of emotions.
Mama.
The word felt echoed in her mind. It was foreign and heavy, yet oddly comforting at the same time. Could she truly fill such a role? She had always loved children, and Andrew already held a special place in her heart since the moment she met him—but the reality of her responsibility was daunting. This wasn’t merely about reading stories or offering a kind word. She would help shape his life, comfort his fears, guide him through trials. The thought both exhilarated and terrified her.
She glanced at Darcy, who was still kneeling beside his son, his expression soft and unguarded. There was a tenderness in the way he brushed Andrew’s curls, a love so evident it made her chest ache. Darcy had entrusted her with not just himself but his family, his world. Could she be enough? Would she fail him or Andrew—or worse, both?
Darcy’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Thank you for this,” he said quietly.
“For what?” she asked, genuinely surprised.
“For making this transition easier for him. And for me.” His voice held an uncharacteristic vulnerability, and she saw the faintest trace of relief in his eyes.
The sincerity in his tone warmed her, even as it added to the storm of emotions within. She managed a faint smile but said nothing more, afraid her voice might betray the nervous energy thrumming through her.
Darcy smoothly rose to his feet and stood beside Elizabeth, his hand brushing hers briefly. The gesture was unintentional, but itsent a jolt through her. She, too, stood up, resisting the urge to begin wringing her hands.
It’s time. You can do this, Elizabeth.
Darcy escorted her out of the room and along the corridor to the guest wing. He stopped before a door and opened it, revealing a spacious, tastefully appointed bedroom adorned with soft colors and elegant furnishings. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Near the bed, a maid unpacked her belongings.
“This is your room,” he said simply. “I will join you in an hour.”
Elizabeth nodded, her throat too tight to form words. He opened a door between her room and, she assumed, his. She watched him go, her heart pounding in her chest. As the door closed softly behind him, she stood frozen in place, the silence of the room pressing in around her.
“If you please, ma’am, I’ll just finish putting these last things away, then I can help you into your nightclothes.”
“Yes, thank you.” Elizabeth’s voice was barely higher than a whisper, and the maid gave her an encouraging smile before returning to her task.
Elizabeth wandered to the hearth and forced back a shiver. The warmth of the fire did little to calm the chill that had settled deep within her. Her eyes fell on the bed, its crisp linens and downy pillows an innocent witness to the night ahead. Her heart pounded as the reality of what awaited her came crashing down.
Her mother’s clumsy, cryptic remarks about marital duties echoed in her mind, offering no clarity, only discomfort. Elizabeth shook her head, chastising herself for letting such thoughts consume her. She had married Darcy—a man of honor, intelligence, and, as she was slowly realizing, depth of feeling and compassion. Surely, he would not expect more than she could give.
And yet… the question remained: what did he feel for her? Had his offer been born solely of honor and obligation, or was there something more? She had glimpsed moments of tenderness in his gaze, fleeting yet unmistakable, but doubt whispered cruelly in her ear.
He doesn’ttrulywant you. This is just another duty to him.
Her thoughts turned to the scene in the nursery, to the way Darcy had spoken about Andrew. It struck her that he wasn’t merely inviting her into his life—he was sharing his family, his vulnerabilities, and his trust. The weight of it was staggering, but it also kindled a glimmer of hope.
The maid helped her into a plain nightgown with a hint of lace around the collar and hem. Drawing a deep breath, she dismissed the maid, then approached the small mirror above the dressing table. Her reflection stared back, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.
“You can do this, Elizabeth,” she whispered to herself. “You’ve faced worse and come through stronger.”
She had married him. And now, there was no turning back.
Chapter 22
Elizabeth’s hands trembled slightly as she stood at the window, looking out into darkness. The room was quiet save for the crackle of the fire, the glow casting soft, flickering shadows on the walls. The small clock above the fire told her there were only two minutes left until the hour Darcy had given her would be over.
The adjoining door opened softly, and Darcy stepped inside. She turned from the window to look at him; he had removed his coat and waistcoat, his cravat slightly loosened. He paused, his gaze sweeping over her with a mixture of warmth and uncertainty. “Elizabeth,” he said quietly, his voice low and steady.
She gave him a small, nervous smile, her fingers twisting the sash of her robe. “Mr. Darcy.”
He arched a brow at her formality, then stepped closer, his expression softening. “Surely, as my wife, you may call me Fitzwilliam.”
“Fitzwilliam,” she repeated, the name unfamiliar on her tongue. It felt strange yet oddly intimate, and the sound of it seemed to draw them closer together.
